


The Brink

by badjujuboo (miztrezboo)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-07
Updated: 2011-12-07
Packaged: 2017-10-27 01:08:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/289905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miztrezboo/pseuds/badjujuboo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco loves leather: the smell, the touch, but most of all the sound of a belt coming undone . . . Harry Bleeding Potter's belt most of all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Brink

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer** : This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
> 
>  **Author's Notes** : Written purely because envy_venis taunted me with the premise of belt!kink fic and it PWP begged to be fulfilled. Alas, I am unable to write any P without the P so its PwithP instead. **Mamacita** is my beta godess, she who laughs at me and all my awkward and my darling deviant!fic twin, **rmhaleFF** who I owe ruffled panties, probably two pairs ;o)

The Brink

It was the sound of his belt coming undone that started it.

The click of metal, the hiss of leather sliding through fabric loops, then the clank as it fell to the ground—or the sharp crack of it striking against bare flesh.

As soon as he heard the noise, his whole body shuddered, muscles flexing and relaxing in anticipation of what was to come. Whether it was fast and hard or slow and drawn out, Draco knew what that sound meant.

Bite, lick, nibble, push, pull, _ohgodsdon'tstop_. . . .

There were days when he thought he could live without hearing it again. That the sound wouldn't affect him as it had done every day for just over six months now. Being locked away in a safe house while a madman hunted down the object of your affection did funny things to a man's mind, but Draco was sure this wasn't one of them.

He'd always been attracted to boys, men.

The sight of a strong jaw graced with a three-day growth stirred something low in his belly. The flex of a toned forearm leading down to long, thick fingers grasping a wand could cause his cock to twitch. Then there was the smell of leather: the musky scents of sweat and dragon hide in the locker room after a Quidditch match or practice session.

Fuck, he had tossed off to the scent of his own gloves alone, far too many times to count . . . not to mention thinking about glistening wet naked bodies in the communal shower, the laughs and friendly taunts, the sight of tight arses bent over when one of them would drop the soap.

It wasn't as if anything like _that_ had happened in there; the Slytherin bathrooms, however, had been something else entirely. He'd lost his virginity to a fit seventh year with long, dark hair and a dimple in his chin to match the pair that resided just above the perfect round of his ass, the night before Draco went home for Christmas when he was fifteen. He'd returned the favour for a curious Blaise in his bedroom while their parents brought in the New Year downstairs.

Yes, Draco had known who he was for a lot longer than he'd known his current partner—or would fuck-buddy be a better term? Draco had a fair idea of what _he_ felt about the man who entered his room most nights, in the quiet beauty of daybreak or the cold black of midnight hours when he would come. He'd probably always known he felt something a little less than hatred for the proposed Saviour of the Wizarding World. Really, love and hate—you couldn't have one without the other; and after last night, when Harry had whispered _his_ name and pressed _his_ lips to the underside of Draco's jaw . . . maybe Harry felt it, too.

The shift. The change.

For Draco it had happened months ago, maybe even as far back as a year. It had all started at home. Watching friend and foe, half-blood and pure, Muggle and wizard alike being forced to endure the worst of the Unforgiveables—or blessedly hit with a quick bright green light—fall before him. Their blood seeping into what had once been a warm timber floor, now turned dark, black almost, with what it had had to endure was enough to make a sane man question his beliefs. Question everything he'd ever been told, everything he had thought to be true. Obvious. It was when the Dark Lord—or the Right Royal Cunt, as Draco preferred to call him in the quiet of his own rooms—attacked his mother with the Cruciatus solely because she had dared to speak up against her son being charged with murdering his Headmaster, that Draco really started questioning his entire existence. When his father had sided with the nutty bastard and thrown a curse at his wife, Draco's decision was sealed.

The moment he got back to Hogwarts and was able to see Dumbledore alone, he told him everything. He asked only for his and his mother's safety in return for all he knew. And he knew a _lot._ Being the son of Voldemort's still-favoured lieutenant paid its way in information, and once sixth year was over, his godfather having completed the heinous task set by the RRC, Draco was free.

Sort of.

If you can call freedom having to shack up in what once was his cousin's home that now belonged to the Boy Who Could Save Us All (as long as he has the Bushy-Haired Wonder and the Weasel along for the ride). Draco wasn't allowed out; they'd tried a heavy Disillusionment charm but had found that to be a waste of time when four Death Eaters turned up after being alerted to his presence by some tracking charm placed on Draco by his father. So far they'd been unsuccessful in removing the spell; Granger was "researching" it whenever she was able to. Draco often joined her in the library, finding comfort in the calming presence of aged books and a study partner that abhorred anything other than the sound of their breaths, filling the room. The Weasel didn't like the amount of time Draco and Hermione had begun spending together—though he'd yet to lay any sort of childish claim on the girl—and boy, didn't Draco enjoy teasing the git by pretending he actually had an _interest_ in her beyond academics, just to wind him up!

Then there was Potter. Harry.

 _Harry._

"Hands."

Draco blinked, and the little light illuminating his room from a bluebell flame Granger had given him a few weeks back flickered across the lens of Harry's glasses.

"I said _hands,_ Malfoy."

So it would be like _that_ tonight, would it?

Draco swung his long legs over the edge of the bed, thankful that he'd forgone anything other than a shirt to sleep in after bidding a tired Granger goodnight. They'd spent the better part of the day in the library. She'd gotten her hands on some particularly Dark books from one of the Order's raids, and apart from looking up "things" that were important to her cause with Harry, she'd stumbled upon a few paragraphs she thought would be of use to Draco. He had humoured her and looked at the pages she had marked, but he ended up reading some of the more erotic wizard-on-wizard novels he'd found hidden in Regulus' room a few days prior.

Draco didn't have any faith that they would find a cure or release for his current situation. He was more than certain the only person who could remove the tab on him wouldn't exactly be forthcoming; especially since Lucius was aware Draco was the reason his wife was absent from their family home. Narcissa was happy enough reacquainting herself with a sister long thought to be lost. It was either a charm reversed or death, and Draco was sure his father wouldn't let that happen. Lucius was all self-preservation, as he'd proved to his son on more than one occasion.

Draco looked up into the dark green eyes of the man he'd come to think of as more than just a means to an end. Harry's hair was limp and stuck to his forehead, shadowing the familiar zigzag of his scar. With Harry standing so close, Draco could smell the clean scent of soap—some cinnamon and sandlewood blend Granger had bought him for Christmas—on Harry's skin. Obviously he'd come straight from the shower. Warmth radiated from the man on a good day but was even more present with the aid of hot water. Draco knew from experience how being wrapped around Harry would soon have his whole body heated to his bones, a fact Draco rather enjoyed what with the Black house being notoriously draughty even in the height of summer.

Harry bent his head down and ran his once Quidditch-roughened fingertips from the crease inside Draco's elbows down to his wrists, a slow, sensual move that had sparks of want radiating through Draco's body just from the single touch. Draco spread his legs further, allowing Harry room to step between them. A drop from a stray strand that curled above Harry's nose slid slowly down, balling on the tip, and an over-eager Draco swiped it off quickly with a flick of his tongue. Harry let out a ragged breath that somehow managed to sound amused as his hands encompassed Draco's wrists.

 _Circe_ , he always felt so small and delicate when Harry held him. Harry's thick fingers wrapped the dark brown of his belt quickly around Draco's skin, securing his hands in a way that Draco could escape if he wanted to.

He hadn't wanted to yet, in all the times they'd played games like this together.

Harry shuddered in front of him and Draco noted each ripple of toned muscle in front of him as it worked its way from Harry's stomach over his ribs and chest, ending in a flutter at the man's throat. One thing Draco had learned in the past half a year of sex with the one and only Harry Potter, he had a definite kink when it came to tying Draco up, specifically when it came to using his own belt to do so. Maybe the Chosen One had a thing for leather too, or maybe it was just who he was wrapping the leather around.

"Budge up." Harry's voice was low and thick, like the warm treacle he was so fond of, poured over gravel, rough and silken at the same time. He licked his lips and cupped Draco's jaw softly. "Please."

Always so polite.

As if Draco needed to be pandered to in this state. He could already feel himself hard and leaking against his own stomach. The rough cotton of his shirt (or was it Harry's? So many of their things had become entangled in this room, Draco wasn't sure any more whose clothes it was he put on) gave his prick the little friction needed to stir something deep inside, begging for what was to come.

He shifted back and Harry followed, crawling his way over the bed on his knees, stopping only when Draco's back hit the few cushions that separated his skin from the wrought iron bedframe behind him. Cherubic lips were licked slowly as Harry swapped the short length of leather from one hand to the other, his eyes focused on Draco's own heavy-lidded stare. Draco bit back a moan; he was never one for patience in any of its forms, and waiting for Harry to decide just _what_ exactly he planned to do with him was too much to handle.

Draco's hands lay bound in his lap, the crown of his prick taunted by the thick leather that drew them together. He knew there would be a wet patch forming there; he was so ruddy hard it hurt, and it didn't help that Harry was just staring at him, like he was something to eat.

 _Circe_ , did Draco want to be eaten—consumed by the man in front of him until they both forgot all about the war that raged around them, about the distinct possibility that either could die at any second. He wanted to forget, and he wanted Harry to forget, too.

Harry moved closer, his knees astride Draco's lap as he raised Draco's trapped hands over his head and secured the leather to the metal bedframe. With a soft word and flick of his wand Harry rid Draco of his shirt, so fast it had his hair fluttering in a nonexistent breeze. Draco barely heard the soft thud of Harry's wand falling to the bed beside them before Harry's hands glided tenderly down Draco's arms, causing gooseflesh to pucker over the pale skin. A hand slid into Draco's soft locks and a light tug had his eyes shifting over the lean torso in front of him. Harry was so close that Draco could almost feel the downy hair that trailed down Harry's belly tickling against his skin. Harry released the hold he had on Draco's hair only to grasp his chin, one thumb moving carefully across the fullness of Draco's bottom lip. There was a question there—the cautious Gryffindor making sure Draco was all right with being tied up like this. All right? Draco bloody loved it, so he arched his brow high in answer. Harry said nothing in return, but the dark lashes that framed the green Draco could never get sick of looking into fluttered just that little bit more, a sure sign of Harry's excitement.

"Unzip me," Harry said with a grunt. "Use your mouth."

Draco did groan that time, bending forward to the obvious bulge behind the dark Muggle trousers Harry was wearing, probably so he didn't look too absurd wandering into Draco's room just out of the bath. Nudity wasn't exactly a becoming thing in this house. Draco didn't know when he'd started taking orders from his Gryffindor, or when he'd started to crave them, but somehow it turned Draco on to be subservient, to do instead of command. It was almost freeing not to argue or have to _think_ about what he wanted. Because he knew what he wanted—Harry—and this way he didn't get to decide on the how. That was totally left up to the dark-haired man in front of him.

A cool, blunt object pressed slowly down his cheek as one of Harry's hands settled on Draco's shoulder. Draco didn't have to look to know it was Harry's wand. He had felt Harry's magic wrap around him—warm and tingly—when he'd entered the room; the wand was merely a formality. "Don't make me ask again, Malfoy."

Draco smirked—some things never changed—before bending his head and nuzzling his face into Harry's crotch. He was thankful Harry had already loosened the button; it was a trifle harder to accomplish the task ahead of him if he had to to scrape his teeth back and forth over cloth and plastic, and Draco wanted to get to what lay underneath all of this before the night was over and his lover was needed elsewhere. They only ever had a few scarce hours when Harry _wasn't_ needed, and with things heating up in the last few weeks every second was precious, not to be wasted on bloody buttons, of all things.

Draco inhaled deeply and the musk and manly scent that was Harry invaded his senses. He breathed in until his lungs could expand no more, wanting to commit as much to memory as he could. Who knew when he'd be able to bury his face back there—his most favourite place apart from the nook of Harry's neck, when they actually could sleep together—again? A chuckle emanated from above. "Trousers, Malfoy? I'd personally like to have my cock in your mouth, as well as other places, before the sun rises."

Draco rolled his eyes, garnering a twist on his already sensitive nipple, before pushing his face further into the material until his teeth finally met familiar cold metal. He grasped the little tag with his teeth, and just to annoy the Gryffindor above him a little further he made a great show of pulling the thing down. Every click of metal teeth coming apart echoed in his ears just under the _thud thud thudding_ of his own heart and the harsh, ragged breaths of the man he wanted to bring undone just as much as the zip in front of him.

"You're getting—you're getting good at that," Harry stuttered, rocking his hips forward. Draco snorted, then used his mouth to pull down the fabric blocking his way to what he _really_ wanted. He managed to get it a quarter of the way down Harry's thighs (they had done _this_ a few times before so, really, Draco was rather an old hand at it). He couldn't wait a second more when suddenly Harry's prick was finally freed, bouncing up to slap Draco in the cheek with its hard length. His tongue flicked out and circled the head; he could taste his Harry there, all manly and slightly bitter even though he'd just showered. Draco's own aching arousal twitched painfully, forgotten between them as Harry's hand moved down to grasp his thick shaft at the base, giving Draco a more stable object to focus on.

"Gods, just—take it. Please."

Draco didn't have to be asked twice. He pulled back, letting the heated flesh brush against his cheek before opening his mouth wide to take in the head. His tongue flicked around Harry's foreskin, pushing it back to get to the sensitive head and lap at the precum that was pooled at the slit. Harry's soft curse words fell into the silence of the room as Draco gave up all pretence of taking his task slowly and swallowed Harry down to the very root, pushing Harry's hand aside to nuzzle the point of his nose into the coarse hair that curled there. The tip of Harry's length pressed against the muscles inside Draco's throat; he had learned to relax them, flexing them in a way that was meant to shuffle down food, not the thick hardness of his lover's cock. A stuttered groan came from above and Draco's own prick twitched; he wouldn't need much after this to get off himself.

Turned out Draco rather enjoyed sucking cock.

He hollowed his cheeks, relishing the feel of the large vein on the underside of Harry's prick pulsing over his tongue and going back to the tip before moving back down again. Draco repeated the move several times and the wet sounds of Harry's enjoyment filled the air until the grip on Draco's hair tightened and he stopped. Clammy palms slid down either side of his face, thumbs brushing over the battered, swollen flesh of his lips before pressing in hard on the bone, forcing Draco to open his mouth. Draco relaxed his jaw, curling his trapped hands into fists as he let Harry fuck his mouth slowly, in shallow thrusts. Draco revelled in the taste. The sharper than normal tang of what he knew to be Harry was much more prevalent here, with Harry's cock in his mouth, than on any other part of his lover.

And Draco had tasted them all.

In and out Harry pulsed, bruising Draco's lips until, with what could only be described as a reluctant shudder, he pulled out completely and sat back on his knees so he could cover Draco's mouth with his own. Harry's tongue plundered where his prick had just been, leaving Draco breathless. His kiss was unrelenting, if sloppy and wet with Draco's saliva that already coated his chin. Teeth nipped at Draco's lip so hard at one point that Draco was sure he could taste the coppery taint of his own blood. Harry was so forceful that he pushed Draco's head painfully against the headboard, the metal biting into his neck and a few strands of his hair catching in one of the metal roses.

"Want you, missed you," Harry whispered against Draco's lips in between punishing kisses. Draco winced as the metal edges of Harry's glasses cut into his cheek. Harry pulled back long enough to notice, pulling the offending articles off before sending them bouncing onto the floor, he'd probably been aiming for the bedside drawers but he really was _useless_ without the damn things on. "I hurt you," Harry said, his thumb brushing over where Draco could still feel the slice into his skin. Without a further thought, Harry's head ducked low, his tongue following whatever mark the silver frames had made.

 _Merlin!_ Did he even realise how bloody erotic that was?

Draco arched up as much as possible, dying for any sort of friction against his cock, which lay hard and heavy against his stomach. "Turn—can you turn over like this?" Harry asked, his mouth leaving a wet trail down Draco's throat as one hand paused over Draco's chest to brush lightly over his nipple. Draco whined, biting down hard on his bottom lip, and tested the bonds in which Harry had him "locked". He knew Harry would never allow the leather to be too tight against his skin; he had once said the _only_ mark he ever wanted to make on Draco would come from him, not from anything else. Draco had worn hideously large purple and red bruises on his neck, collarbone, left hip, and that space where his thigh and leg joined for a week afterward.

"Yes," he moaned, as Harry's lips covered the pebbled peak his fingers had previously toyed with. Draco's nipples were ridiculously responsive and Harry took full advantage of it, the prat. But he was _Draco's_ prat, of that he was becoming more and more certain. Even if nothing had been spoken aloud about the shift in their relationship dynamic, it showed in the little things. From the softness in Harry's stare across the dinner table, the way he pressed his thigh against Draco's when he came to check on Hermione's "research" in the library, and most of all when he held Draco—just held and breathed against him when there was no time for anything other than a quick pressing together of their bodies.

There had to be something more than just really, really, fantastic shagging.

Sharp teeth scraped over the thin skin that barely covered the muscle of Draco's chest. Even with what food the oh-so-touchy-feely Mrs. Weasley brought and constantly forced Draco to have seconds of, he still hadn't managed to gain much weight. He barely filled out his clothes, which were growing very worn seeing as he refused to wear any Ginger family hand-me-downs. Harry shared her watchful eye, and Draco loved nothing more than to watch him squirm under it. Much like Draco himself was pinned under the lust-glazed stare of his lover now.

Harry smiled up at Draco, the previously wet hair curling on his forehead, stuck now by sweat rather than water. "Well, then?" He sat back, his hands sliding down to rest on Draco's hips, guiding Draco's body so he was now on his knees, arse up and with Draco's head lying low between his tethered arms. Draco felt Harry shift behind him and then the sound of what was probably Harry ridding himself of his trousers before the bed dipped again behind his feet. Agonizingly slow, a solitary finger made its way from the nape of Draco's neck to the cleft of his arse. Draco shivered, his arms tingling with the refreshed blood flow from his body's new position. He could feel the heat of Harry behind him, the dark-haired man having bowed to trace the same line as before but this time with his tongue and sharp nips of his teeth over the curve of Draco's spine. It took all of Draco's remaining strength not to press himself further into Harry's touch. He knew if he showed any type of impatience it would just make Harry slow down even further, even if it meant denying his own wants and needs.

Warm hands wandered in lazy trails down Draco's sides, stopping only to cup his arse cheeks and pull them wide, and Harry's mouth pressed one lingering kiss at the point of separation. Draco hissed as cool air was blown softly over his exposed entrance. He felt the sensitive skin pucker and imagined it looked as if it were winking at the one who teased it so. "Spread your legs further," Harry said before biting at the round of Draco's left cheek, then sucking the skin into his mouth, all wet and hot. Draco licked his lips, shifting as he was asked, and gripped the thick strap that tied him to the bed that little bit harder.

" _Fuck_."

And then Harry's tongue was _there_. The flat of it passed over Draco's pucker in a long, wet stripe that started at the soft velvet of his sack and finished close to where Harry's hands still prised apart Draco's cheeks. Then it was light, almost ticklish circles over every crease, and then a harsh darting of Harry's tongue, pushing at the muscle, and Draco willed it to give. _Merlin_ , he loved Harry's mouth; but it was the man's tongue fucking his arse that he loved most of all. Draco could feel his prick slapping against his stomach, sticking briefly to the precum that was now seeping freely, leaving what was sure to be a mess on the aged yellow sheets underneath them. He could feel Harry's fingers pressing deeply into his flesh, more marks he would bear with pride, as a reminder of what they had shared together, when Harry was gone.

In and out the point of Harry's tongue stabbed at his hole, leaving Draco whining, moaning with pleasure, wanting more and more, and Harry gave it. Gave and gave and _gave_ , until Draco's arms were shaking in their restraints and he'd long since given up on staying quiet. His raspy voice filled the room, begging for more, begging for Harry to stop but at the same time not wanting it to end. Curses calling on both Muggle and wizarding deities alike fell from dry, chapped lips as he pressed himself back, pushing his body against the tongue he couldn't get enough of.

Harry was relentless, as he was in all aspects of their lovemaking (because it was becoming that, wasn't it?). Draco's prick throbbed with need as Harry slid two fingers where his mouth had just been. Draco's breath left his throat in a short squeak. As much as Harry's lavished treatment had prepared him down there, two of Harry's short, stubby fingers together was a little much. The bastard chuckled darkly behind him.

"A little warning next time, Potter?" Draco gasped out, earning a stinging slap to the sweat-covered skin of his behind.

"Be good, or I might decide to see just how _many_ fingers you can take, Malfoy. It was four last time, wasn't it? Want to try for five?" Harry twisted the two digits buried inside Draco's arse in a scissoring motion, the action briefly rubbing over that sensitive spot inside that had Draco's bones on the verge of melting. "Or perhaps my whole hand?" Harry whispered behind Draco's ear, his tongue sliding around the lobe only to be followed by the slight pain of teeth tugging at the tiny pad of flesh.

"Fuck, _fuckfuckfuck_ ," Draco cursed. (He really had been hanging around the Weasel too much, as shown by his use of such a crass word.) He turned his head to seek out the mouth that was causing him so much pleasure-pain. Harry's rough laughter filled the heated space between them, his lips a breath above Draco's own, meeting them lightly before falling to press over the clammy skin of Draco's back in reckless paths. His free hand roamed the curve of Draco's neck to his shoulder, massaging the taut muscle as his fingers brought Draco to the absolute brink. The fire that had started low in Draco's belly before Harry had come quietly into his room was now a raging inferno, sending tendrils of imminent release through his veins, scorching his flesh from the inside out—and Draco loved it. Needed it.

"Please, _pleaseplease_ , Harry." He begged again and again as two fingers became three, and Harry's mouth nibbled and sucked at whatever skin he could possibly settle on for a moment. Draco's body was wracked with pleasure, he was shaking with need, and Harry—the bastard—was making them both wait. Draco rested his forehead against his arm, the warm skin bringing no relief to the fever Harry was causing. "Please, I want—I want you inside me when I come. Not—not your fingers." Draco squirmed as Harry rubbed relentlessly over his sweet spot. Draco could feel his thighs shaking, and his ability to even keep upright at this point was slowly becoming a gigantic effort. He felt Harry's thumbs enter him together, prying the tight muscle apart before his tongue— _gods_ , the man's tongue was circling inside. Draco felt his cock twitch, his bollocks tighten and rise. He was so _bloody_ close! "Sweet Salazar, I want your pretty prick, Potter, and I want it _now_!" The words tumbled from his mouth. He was so lost between the nearness of ecstasy and wanting to prolong it as much as possible that he very nearly had no idea what he was saying.

Until it stopped.

He felt empty as Harry all but disappeared from within him. There was a whispered spell, inflections so familiar Draco was certain Harry only said them because he knew that wordless magic still caused Draco to flinch; there were too many dark memories attached to things that happened without sound. Being unable to see anything more than just the golden hairs on his forearm, Draco's hearing was elevated. There were slick, wet noises of a prick being roughly handled, coated with viscous fluid that would only ease what a tongue, spit, and fingers had already prepared. The grunted gasps of Harry's breath in and out as he teased himself—and Draco—with a promise of what was to come.

Then there was silence.

Draco waited.

Just as he was about to curse the heavens for bloody Harry Bloody Potter, the Bastard Who Made Him Wait, he felt it—the hard press of the blunt head at his entrance. He felt the pinch of Harry's fingers over the curve of his hip, holding him still as little by little Harry demanded entry to tight, all-encompassing heat. Draco didn't manage to breathe again until he could feel Harry's bollocks against the back of his thighs, and then it was only a loud whoosh out as Harry groaned, his sweet lips teasing the soft, curled hairs at the nape of Draco's neck. Full, so bloody full and surrounded by this _man_. This man who had somehow changed from enemy to annoying prat and then lustworthy interest to . . . well, whatever it was they were now.

Draco couldn't remember the exact details of the day it changed, just Harry's lips meeting his in the cellar one cold afternoon in the middle of winter. Draco had been throwing what few household repair spells he knew at what his ex-werewolf Professor had called a "furnace" or some such. The blasted thing wasn't warming water, let alone air, and Draco was wearing all his ruddy clothes and was still chilled to the bone. Harry had appeared as Draco's temperature had risen—much faster than the air surrounding them—and they ended up in an impromptu duel which Draco had won in more ways than one. He'd managed to disarm Potter and was bragging loudly about the fact when the dark-haired man's lips assaulting his own shut Draco up. They'd rutted against each other, Draco's back to the damned furnace that Harry's wild magic had managed to somehow fix in all the hullabaloo, bringing each other to orgasm quickly.

That had been the first, but not the last time anger had changed to mutually getting off. Then, as the seasons began to change, anger wasn't needed as a precursor; taunts turned to talks and confessions turned quickly into a contest of who could come the fastest. Who could hold out the longest and increase their pleasure until it was on the verge of pain. Random shags eventually changed into something filled with tender touches, then gentle caresses followed outside the bedroom and very nearly became a ruddy public display of affection when Ron had Apparated into the back yard where Draco and Harry were partaking in a little open-air mutual hand job.

Thank Circe for the knitted throw the Weasel's mother had left for Draco, being so close to hand out on the bench that day!

"Merlin, Malfoy—Draco. I love being in you. You're so, so fucking—"Draco felt Harry withdraw until just the tip was inside him— "so fucking _good_."

Obviously, Harry was still impressively verbose.

"Just fuck me already, Potter. I know I'm good; I don't need to hear about it."

Harry moved his hand from where it had more than likely created impressive bruises on Draco's hips and drew it up the arch of Draco's back, stopping to cup his shoulder. His fingertips slid down until they gripped firmly in the hollow above his collarbone; then, without any further warning, he slammed back into Draco, causing the man underneath him to grip the cold metal bar till his knuckles whitened with the effort.

From there Harry moved in Draco fast and hard, just like Draco had predicted he would from the tone in Harry's voice when he'd entered the room. The musical cadence of their bodies moving together was all Draco could hear: heartbeats pounding, flesh meeting flesh with repetitive slaps, while grunts, whimpers, and breathy words that could have been names falling from trembling lips filled in the gaps. Draco dropped his head to his chest and closed his eyes, losing himself in the back and forth, the rock and roll of his body moving in perfect time with Harry's. The bed creaked and shook. Draco hoped Harry had remembered to put up at least _one_ silencing charm around the room. Draco's bed was unfortunate enough to be against a wall he shared with Hermione's room, and she had already begun to look suspiciously between the two of them. A little bedroom noise followed by the not-so-discreet calling of Draco's name by a decidedly male voice (Harry was a screamer) would only add to what Draco knew she had been guessing at.

Now was _not_ the time to be thinking about Granger.

Draco adjusted his grip on the metal bar, no longer cool to the touch after having his hands on it for so long. He lifted his head, turned his face, and called Harry's name. His lover slowed the movement of his hips to become short, deep thrusts that had Draco's eyelids fluttering from how _good_ it felt. Harry pressed open-mouthed kisses over Draco's flushed skin until his lips met the line of Draco's jaw.

"What is it? What is it you want?" Harry asked, his voice raspy and harsh. Draco tried to remember what it was he wanted but Harry's hand was on the move, sliding over his chest and pinching a hardened nipple roughly. "Well?"

"More. I need— _Merlin and Morgana!_ I-I need—" Draco could barely manage coherent thought; the blood needed to process his wants was otherwise occupied— "you," he managed after a particularly deep thrust from Harry. It was the most he'd admitted to the dark-haired man who was currently balls deep inside him, the first real moment of absolute weakness, and he was in no position to pull one of his regular witty retorts or raised brows followed by scathing sarcasm to get out of it.

What the ruddy hell had this Gryffindor done to him? He sounded like nothing less than a flaming Hufflepuff!

Draco's breath froze in his throat as his partner stilled behind him, Harry's cock leaving the warmth of Draco's body completely. Every second felt like an hour and could only be truly counted by a small droplet of sweat Draco could feel travelling down the side of his cheek, slowly moving past his ear and then down the line of his jaw. The faux tear was nearing the hollow at the base of his throat when he felt the bonds around his wrists disappear. There was a surge of magic in the room so thick and heady it wrapped around Draco's body, setting every tiny hair to stand on end. With a stomach-turning jerk, Draco was spun around; his wide eyes were met with a near-glowing set of green ones. He'd seen and felt the power of Harry's magic before, but this—this was something else entirely.

Harry's arms wrapped around Draco, holding him close as he seemed to search Draco's face for something. "You mean it?" he said eventually, the tip of his nose brushing against Draco's, Harry's thick, full lashes fluttering with what Draco knew was as much a nervous tic as Harry combing his fringe over that scar on his forehead. "Don't—I can't handle it if you don't. I don't think you realise how much I need you, Draco."

Well, wasn't this the time for spilling secrets! And right as Draco was on the brink of what could possibly have been the orgasm of his life.

"Draco, you know this—us—it's more for me." Harry's stare was so piercing, his words so filled with all the hidden things Draco had kept locked away in his own heart, that it was almost as if the admission from Harry had set something right inside of Draco—a _click_ that was unheard, but felt all the same.

"You can't let him win, Harry. I can't lose you. This is everything to me." Draco's voice broke over the words that were probably the most honest he'd ever shared with Harry that hadn't been in physical form.

Harry's smile was brilliant, all white teeth and bright, shining eyes. "Yeah?" he said.

"Yes, _Potter_." Draco smirked back with a shake of his head, his hands sliding up and down Harry's chest.

"Not Potter, _Harry_ ," Harry said with a slight frown, but Draco was unable to take the look with any seriousness what with the cheeky bloody grin still on Harry's face. Draco gasped, and he swallowed the witty retort about to leave his lips as he felt Harry's cock press once more against his entrance.

"Harry," Draco said, the word leaving his lips softly, almost in reverence for why and who he was saying it to. His eyes locked on his lover as Harry entered him once more. When Harry was fully seated, with Draco's legs wrapped around his waist, their lips met and their kissing restarted in earnest. Draco met each of Harry's thrusts as best he could in this position, his hands alternating between memorising every curve and plane of Harry's body and stopping to just hold on for the ride. Harry's tongue pressed against Draco's, movements that only served to echo the ones made where their bodies joined together much lower.

"Har-arry, gods, _please_ , Harry!" Draco whispered as Harry's hands massaged the firm flesh of Draco's arse when he changed their position slightly, shifting Draco so each thrust felt deeper, almost as if Harry wanted to climb inside of him. Not that Draco would have minded at that precise moment; his whole body was begging for release, teetering on the edge of something magnificent. They'd spoken more truthfully, listened with more trust tonight than they ever had with each other before, and Draco's whole being sang with the joy of it—of wanting, and being wanted in return. Perhaps even loved, though obviously neither of them was ready to speak that thought aloud just yet, but the promise was there and that was more than Draco had hoped for. He kissed Harry harder, wanting to convey everything he felt, the emotions that whirled inside him with the simple press of lips on lips, reminding Harry of where they'd started all of this and how far they had come. Draco's arms wound themselves around Harry's neck, the fingertips of one hand toying with the curls of damp hair at Harry's nape and the other feeling, just feeling the muscles of his lover twist and flex as Harry moved within him.

Draco was so hard that he yelped when Harry's hand finally, _finally_ dropped to wrap around Draco's cock. Harry's hand formed a tight fist around the shaft, twisting just so at the top, a move that came with practice and a trained eye from all the times they'd sat and watched each other get off, only to have Harry fuck Draco stupid later when the dirty talk or bragging rights of one over the other got to be too much (they _were_ still young men, after all, with matching insatiable libidos). Draco's eyelids fluttered; the burn in the pit of his stomach was travelling lower, tightening his bollocks and sending delicious waves of _nownownow_ through his being.

Warm lips traversed the round of his shoulder, green eyes meeting their grey counterparts as Harry sped up his movements, Draco was enveloped in the twin sensations of being completely filled by Harry and having Harry's hand squeeze and slide over his shaft. "Draco? Are you—I'm so—"

Draco nodded. "Gods, yes. _Yesyesyes!"_ Like a tsunami his orgasm rushed up and over him. With a few tight tugs on his prick and Harry jackhammering away right over his prostate, he didn't have much choice. Draco was simply holding on to Harry as bright flashes of golds and whites so bright he thought he'd be blinded sparked behind his closed lids. His head fell to Harry's shoulder, his nose automatically finding _that_ spot— _his_ spot—as Harry followed close behind. His lips pressed against Harry's throat, vibrating with how loudly Harry said his name as his thrusts turned slow and deep when he came.

Harry pulled Draco down on him, his hands still cupping Draco's arse, both men breathing raggedly but too spent to do anything but just focus on that one life-sustaining factor alone. Draco felt boneless, his body turned into some jelly-like substance, he was so wasted by what Harry had done to him, what they had shared together. He closed his eyes and revelled in being so close to this man who would soon leave him, go back out into the world where darkness and a fight in which he never should have had to take part waited in the shadows. If only he could keep Harry here—here in his bed, in his arms. Just here with him in this room where nothing else mattered but what was shared between them, where being naked together wasn't just a physical thing but could be explained in words shared and emotions revealed. Even now, when his body still shuddered with the after-effects of true bliss, Draco already felt a coldness settling in his chest, a chunk of ice formed of worry and concern over the man wrapped around him, inside him still.

He couldn't let Harry go.

Warm fingertips eventually made their way up and down the damp, flushed skin of Draco's back. He paid them no mind but burrowed further into the space on Harry he'd come to claim as his own. His arms tightened around his lover as thoughts that no Malfoy would ever allow himself to think, let alone admit to, filled his head.

Gods, Harry had truly turned him into a Hufflepuff.

"Don't. Don't go wherever you're going, Draco."

Draco didn't speak, merely closed his eyes tighter.

"Please, don't. You keep me sane, Draco. You remind me that everything isn't completely turned on its head and that there are some things I can count on."

"What's that?" Draco mumbled into Harry's neck, resisting the urge to run his tongue over the tiny white scar Harry had given himself shaving after Draco had had Kreacher sharpen the old blade that had been Sirus' and forgotten to tell Harry about it.

"You being an arse."

Draco huffed, nipping at the underside of Harry's jaw before pulling himself back enough so he could see the mirth in Harry's eyes. The crinkle of lines around them spoke more than the straight face Harry was apparently trying to hold. "And having your gorgeous arse to shag," Harry added, giving Draco's cheeks a pinch at which Draco pressed his nails into a spot just above Harry's waist that he knew was sensitive to touch. Harry twitched (as Draco knew he would) and stifled a snort . . . badly. "Don't make me wish I hadn't untied you. You know how much I love to see you in my leather."

Merlin, wouldn't you know it. He should have been completely spent and unable to do so, but Draco felt the twitch and stirring of his limp prick lying in the sticky mess between them.

Harry laughed, pressing his forehead against Draco's before leaning in for a long, lingering kiss. "When I get back, Kreacher should have 'Master Regulus'' Quidditch gear fixed up."

Confusion at Harry's out-of-place statement drew a line between Draco's brows.

"Turns out old R.A.B. and I were around the same size. You never could keep your eyes off my thighs on the Quidditch pitch."

"Like you didn't have your eyes glued to my behind!" Draco quipped back, sucking hard at the hollow his lips had previously pressed gently against. Let Harry be the one to wear a mark of ownership this time. Bloody Weasley could make of it what he wished; he'd deal with Miss "I knew it!" later.

"Do you really want to discuss who the winner was out of all our matches, Draco?"

"Right, _Potter_. I don't think now is the time to be arguing about who—" Draco groaned, the rest of his diatribe put on hold as Harry's hand slipped between them, tracing lightly over the proof of Draco's interest.

"Just think of all those laces and straps you'll get to undo. With your teeth."

Leather. Why did it always come back to bloody leather and buckles?

* * *


End file.
